


The Freya Stories

by VikingWitchling



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: Childhood Trauma, F/M, Gen, Gods, Horror, Loss, Magic, Pain, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 22:01:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17754272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VikingWitchling/pseuds/VikingWitchling
Summary: A collection of stories from Freya Mikaelson's past, starting with her traumatizing childhood, her attempts at escaping Dahlia, as well as some of the people she met along the way.Sexual content and graphic violence.





	1. Origins Of Monstrosity

**ORIGINS OF MONSTROSITY**

"Enlighten us, what traumas did you suffer at the hands of our aunt? Do you believe your suffering was greater than ours? She took you from Esther and Mikael, the two most incompetent and selfish parents of their time, and in doing so, in my opinion, she did you a great kindness."

–Niklaus Mikaelson

**●981 AD - Kingdom of Norway●**

The morning light had just begun to creep through the cracks in the wall, slowly illuminating the hovel Dahlia and I shared. Seated on my cot, still in my nightwear and with a heavy reindeer pelt draped about my shoulders, I watched my aunt fill her pouches with herbs and potions. She had lit the fire a while ago, and the flames were strong enough now to heat the porridge I had made last night, sweetened with blueberries and honey. The scent quickly spread through our little lair and though I had not felt hungry up until that point, my mouth now watered. Dahlia tied her pouches to her belt and moved to scoop a small portion of our morning meal into two wooden bowls. She handed me one, and took the other for herself, eating in a hurry.

"I will be gone until nightfall," she said, breaking the silence that had claimed us since the previous night. "And when I return I expect you here to greet me."

Though curious about where she was going, I knew better than to ask. Experience told me questions would not be well received. Absently stirring my spoon through the thick porridge, I met my aunt's dark eyes over the fire, trying to decipher the message they sent. She wanted confirmation of my obedience, and though I wished to give her one to avoid confrontation (that I always lost), my tongue seemed to run away from my mind, hastily spewing a displeased string of words I had intended to keep to myself.

"Why can I not come with you? Please, Aunt Dahlia. I want to see what lies beyond our forest. I want to see the world."

She went on these trips every few months and always returned in a foul mood, smelling of smoke and with the lower half of her dress stained in blood. Because she never showed any signs of damage, I assumed the blood did not belong to her. I had conjured up many theories over the years of what her purpose of these outings was. Perhaps she was protecting our home by slaying those who came too close for her liking? Perhaps she was laying waste to entire Viking villages, like she had done in the past, just to sate her own need for vengeance. Perhaps she was sacrificing some poor lost souls to the underworld in the hopes her powers would grow. Or perhaps, and this was my favoured theory, she returned to the village where my mother and father resided, to renegotiate the terms of her and Esther's agreement. Maybe Esther was bargaining for me, to bring me home to Finn and Elijah and potential new siblings, and most important of all, to Mikael. Ever since I'd been taken, my every dream had been of him charging through the wastelands on his horse, his sword raised high, coming to save me from the wicked witch who would keep me away from my family. Every day I got up hoping he would stand on our doorstep. But he never came. Nor did anyone else. And eventually, Dahlia's words started to ring true. "Your mother and father don't want you." But even so, the little girl in me still could not surrender all hope. No matter how futile.

"You know I will not allow that to happen," Dahlia said, regarding me over the fire with narrowed eyes, "You must stay here. Where you are safe. Protected."

She rose to her feet and placed her empty bowl on our makeshift table, helping herself to a sip of water from a nearby cup.

"No man may set foot upon my property without meeting a vicious fate. No one will be able to take you from me, to use you for your powers. You know all that awaits you in the realm of the brutes is pain and suffering."

This was the answer she would give me every time I made a request to step off our land. But what had once been a heartfelt plea that made my insides wrench in fear and guilt, now seemed an automatic response to a child that was too thick to remember previous explanations.

"I suffer now!" I hissed, eyes ablaze with anger. "You keep me here, trapped and alone, with no one to look upon but you! If this is safety, I do not want it. I deserve to live, as you do, not merely exist."

Dahlia struck me without warning, the palm of her hand connecting with my cheek so harshly it turned my head and made my ears ring. My bowl fell from my lap, its contents splattered upon the earthen floor. Shocked by the sudden pain, my hand rose to soothe my burning skin, my mouth falling open as I looked up at the woman who had struck me without hesitation.

"Foolish, ungrateful child," she growled in a low, dark voice that somehow made the room seem smaller and void of light. "I feed you, clothe you, keep you warm in the long winters and this is the thanks I get? You should be grateful I do not kill you here and now. It would save me the agony of hearing you whine." She leaned down, her face mere inches from mine, an intimidating tactic I had seen her use many times just before she brought someone's life to an end. I could feel her warm breath on my skin, could feel my own revert from her lips and back to me. Dahlia could put fear in the bravest of men, but not me. Not now. Not with this threat.

"You would never," I whispered, my tear-filled gaze burning with anger and conviction. "You depend on my power. Without it, you are just another old hag banished to the dark corner of this world." I half expected her to strike me again, and for a moment it seemed she too was contemplating this idea. But then her lips curled in an unpleasant smile, and she took my face in both her hands.

"We shall see how long that lasts. Mark my words, Freya, if your wretched siblings don't give me a child once they've matured, I will make certain you do. And then, I might not have need for you anymore. But until that day comes – You. Stay. Here."

She pushed me away with such force my neck strained in protest, the back of my head crashing into the wall behind me. Without another glance at me, the elder witch swept out the door, leaving behind only the remnants of her threats and her nail marks upon my temples. I remained where I was a while, emotions shifting from self-pity to anger and back again as quickly as rolling waves.

I hated her, I really did. But what was worse, I needed her too. Ever since she had brought me here, my magic had been grown rapidly, unleashing itself in terrifying ways that brought harm to both me and others more times than one. During my most recent fit of anger, I had conjured up a storm with no intention to do so and the birds above had fallen dead to my feet, like a macabre rain of crows and starlings. Though Dahlia was the reason behind most of my anger, she was also the only one who seemed capable of soothing me. Those moments when she took me in her arms and whispered words of comfort, singing to my quivering form was the only times I felt anything but hatred for the woman. It was as though her entire personality shifted, from villain to loving mother. And that was what I craved the most. Love.

Wiping my eyes, I eventually rose to my feet and began clearing my breakfast away, gathering the used bowls and utensils to take them down to the river later for a rinse. I changed my dress and braided my hair to keep it out of my eyes, put out the fire as the sun rose on the horizon, filling the summer day with warmth. I stepped outside to take a look, assessing the potential for this day. It would be a fine time to wash clothes and to fix the crack in the roof, or perhaps to slaughter a goat and prepare its meat for conservation. The fish would surely bite on a day as fine as this, and the water would be warm enough for me to bathe as well. But none of the options I had before me seemed as tempting as they normally would have. Perhaps because I knew with certainty, I would have to do it all alone. Companion, beyond Dahlia, was what I wished for.

For a witch, wishes can often turn to reality, and mine was fulfilled that day. While exploring the forests around our cottage, I happened upon two children. They were roughly my age, a boy and a girl by the names of Arvid and Dagmar. Twins.

Such a find was unheard of for me. The nearest village was miles away, and its inhabitants rarely dared to stray into Dahlia's forests for it was rumoured to be the home of great evil. I had not seen another child in years. Not a live child, anyway. And here were two!

I was hesitant at first, Dahlia's warnings hanging over me like a shadow, but when the twins invited me to come play with them by the river, the temptation was too great. I could not resist.

Arvid and Dagmar were ten years of age, they told me, and they travelled the country with their mother who had the gift of foresight. She could interpret dreams and signs from the gods, and she could reveal how your life was destined to be. The rich were always more than eager to pay for such services, and so the twins' mother never ran out of work.

I did not tell them of my life with Dahlia and spoke very little, but Arvid and Dagmar seemed not to mind. They were happy and free of suspicion and distrust. They only wanted to play and were happy they had found a new friend.

Friend. The word tasted weird on my tongue, but I liked it.

We spent the day by the river, Dagmar and I making flower-wreaths that we put in our hair, while Arvid picked berries from the nearby bushes. He brought us several fistfuls and we gorged ourselves on the sweet, red fruits until we could stomach no more. We bathed in the river and lay out on the rocks to dry off, basking in the warm sunlight like cats.

When Arvid suggested we cross the river to explore the forest on the opposite side for potential fruit trees, I did not hesitate in following. Only when I had swam across and climbed onto the riverbank did I realize my mistake.

It started as a pain in the pit of my stomach and spread to my extremities. My chest tightened, my lungs constricting, hindering me from breathing properly. My eyes went wide with fear as I witnessed the skin on my hand wither and turn a rotten black, threatening to fall away altogether to expose bone.

It was a boundary spell. One of Dahlia's, it had to be. She had always warned me not to stray this far from the cottage, but I had never expected she would take such drastic measures to ensure I obeyed.

I threw myself back into the river, clumsily making my way back from where we had come, gasping for air and unable to hear the twins call my name from the other side. Once back on land, my breathing eased and the pain vanished, my hand restored to its former self as though this had been nothing more than a hallucination.

I cast a glance back at the confused children who were still calling for me, scrambled to my feet and ran. I couldn't tell them what had happened. I had no way to explain. They would think me crazy, or I would frighten them away. It was a disappointing ending to the perfect day, but a part of me felt victorious.

I had happy memories now, moments of pure innocent joy that Dahlia would never be able to take from me. Friends.

When I arrived back at the cottage, darkness had fallen and Dahlia was waiting. Cold fury marred her face and I contemplated what lies to tell her in order to save myself from her wrath. But not a single dishonest word could part with my lips. One glance from my aunt was enough to make me spill all my secrets.

To my surprise, she did not explode with anger, nor did she seem intent to punish me for my disobedience. Instead, she simply ushered me inside and told me to get dinner started. She remained outside to chop firewood.

I did not question her decision, too relieved not to feel the sting of her hand upon my face, and simply did as I was told. I skinned a rabbit for our dinner and chopped various roots and herbs to be added to a stew. Then I cleaned the rabbit pelt and hung it up to dry for later use. By the time the meat and vegetables simmered pleasantly over the fire, a few hours had passed.

Dahlia had yet to come inside, and I did not mind this in the least, but when I heard her call my name I did not delay in peering out through the doorway.

"Yes?"

It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the darkness and finally landed upon Dahlia as she slammed the axe down into a log, leaving it there for the next time wood needed to be chopped. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand before gesturing towards something in the dark.

"Your little friends are here."

I blinked rapidly, certain I had misheard her at first.

"My friends?"

I searched the space she indicated, taking a few hesitant steps away from the cottage for further examination. I saw no one. Surely it wasn't the twins? Dahlia may not have punished me for making their acquaintance, but she would never allow anyone to step foot onto her property without permission.

I looked back at her over my shoulder, confused, and she jabbed her finger impatiently in the same direction. I took another few steps, pausing abruptly when I realized the ground before me had vanished. There was a hole in the forest floor.

No.

Not a hole.

A grave.

I screamed as my gaze settled on the two pale figures that had been swallowed by the earth. There they were, brother and sister, naked bodies gleaming in the moonlight, their bellies torn open in crimson gashes that expelled their intestines, eyes wide open and milky-white, staring accusingly up at me from the abyss. Dead.

Heartache and disbelief took hold of me, sobs wracking my tiny body until my head spun with panic and threatened to take away my ability to stand.

Dahlia came up behind me, one hand clutching my shoulder. Through tear-filled eyes, I only now noticed she was spattered with blood. She looked down upon the twins serenely, but her voice was sombre.

"You lead them to our home. Threatened to expose us to your father's vile people. They would have been at our doorstep before dawn, plundering our food supplies, burning our house, raping you until you bled out and died."

Her fingers tightened on my shoulder, digging in painfully.

"Look at them. This could all have been avoided had you not been such a disobedient, selfish child."

Then she pushed me. I felt my feet lose contact with solid ground and I fell forward into the darkness. My body collided with the corpses, and once again I screamed, making futile attempts at scrambling away from the dead twins. But it was no use. There was nowhere else to go.

My fingers clawed at the earthen walls, trying to find purchase, a root, a rock, anything to help me climb out of this grave, but to no avail.

Above me, Dahlia stood watching, her eyes dark with cruel amusement.

"Play with your friends, Freya."

Something shifted beneath me, and soon, cold, dead hands reached for me through the darkness, pulling me down beneath them, filling my nostrils with the putrid stench of death, bloodied corpses slithering atop me and keeping me prisoner between them until I thought I would pass out from fear. Their nails clawed at my skin and they delivered punishing bites to my bare arms whenever I dared move too much for their liking.

"Dahlia, please! Make it stop! Don't leave me here! Help me! PLEASE!"

Screaming and crying, my pleas fell on deaf ears. Dahlia said nothing more. She just watched. And when I had exhausted myself, now a true prisoner of the twin corpses, she left. She did not return until the sun was high upon the sky the following day.


	2. Forever Mine

**FOREVER MINE**

**•Kingdom of Norway - 1414 A.D.•**

"Hurry! We don't have much time."

I caught Matthias' hand and urged him on, leading the way through the snow-laden forest. Our footprints were easy to track on the white ground, but as long as we made it down to the docks, I would not matter. A ship was awaiting us there to give us safe passage to Denmark, where, if we were cautious and clever enough, we might elude Dahlia long enough to find a way to break her magical connection with me.

Running through the snow in a floor-length dress and eight months pregnant was no easy feat, but I forced myself to not succumb to the aching pain in my feet, and the growing obstruction to my windpipe. I could endure ten minutes of agony and would gladly pay the minor consequences later as long as I could bring my unborn son and the man I loved to safety.

Matthias came to a sudden halt behind me but did not let go of my hand. Because his physical strength outweighed my own, I was pulled back with a groan, wincing and quickly re-positioning myself to avoid damage to my shoulder.

"What is it?" I breathed, my voice escaping on a cloud of frosty smoke.

Matthias frowned at me and looked as though he was about to answer. But when his mouth opened, no words were uttered, only a feeble whimper and sudden copious amounts of blood.

"No!" I screamed, as he sunk to his knees, blood continuing to pour from his mouth, nose, eyes, and ears. I knew the cause long before she appeared. There, towering between two pine trees stood Dahlia, her eyes black with cruelty, her hand raised in a fist before her.

"Stop it! Dahlia, no!" A twinge of pain erupted in my lower abdomen, the child within me shifting in discomfort as though my distress caused him physical pain. Dahlia said nothing and did not release Matthias from her hex. He was watching me with a look of desperation, a silent plea for help I could not give him. No one could stop Dahlia. No one was powerful enough.

As my lover's body fell silent to the forest floor, my knees buckled beneath me and I was overcome with heart-wrenching sobs. The tears would not halt, and I did not try to make them. I felt Dahlia draw near, the sound of her winter cloak dragging along the powdery snow mingled with my grieving cry. No other sound could be heard. There were no animals here. They had all fled the scene when dark magic entered.

"Stop crying, child," Dahlia demanded in a calm, yet impatient voice. "He was nothing. Nothing but a means to an end." She pressed the tip of her boot to Matthias' crimson cheek, lifting his face just enough for her to examine it before she released him with a contemptuous sight. "Filth."

Angrily, I swatted her foot away, raising a tear-filled gaze that burned intensity to look upon the face of the devil herself. "How could you?" I cried, my features contorted in rage. "How could you do this to me? I loved him! He loved me!" Catching Matthias' cold face in both my hands, I cradled him to me as much as my pregnant belly would allow, crying like I had cried the day I was taken from my mother.

"Love," Dahlia mused, a dark smile igniting, "He never loved you, child. The only reason he wanted you was because I made him."

My sobs subsided. I looked at up at her in shock.

"What?"

"I cast a spell, made him seek you out. Made him think he loved you, so you would return his feelings." She paused, looking surprised by my gobsmacked reaction. "I told you, Freya, your siblings can never give me another child. That duty lies with you now." She crouched down and placed a tender hand upon my stomach, her gaze transfixed. "And I will have what is owed to me."

She was insane. I had known this for quite some time, but somehow, I had never expected her to take such drastic measures to get what she wanted. The thought that every moment with my beloved Matthias had been nothing but a lie, made my heart ache in a way I had never experienced before. I believed the pain would be less had Dahlia just ripped it from my chest. I had no words.

"Come now, child. Did you really think you would be able to escape me? You are mine. I feel you - in here," she whispered and placed a hand on her chest. "Cry for him no more. He was just another Viking descendant, brute and ignorant, like your father. He is not worthy of your tears."

She rose gracefully to her feet and caught my arms, tugging me up along with her despite my shaky legs and trembling hands. I knew there was no use in trying to make her see the error of her ways. I had tried my entire life. Dahlia would never change. I stood there, my hands limp in hers, believing myself to be all out of the powerful emotions that had through from me minutes earlier. I was drained.

"Let us go home, and I will make you an infusion of chamomile to calm your nerves. We must not harm our child." Dahlia crooned, assuming her usual pretence of a motherly figure.

Something within me broke as her words registered. Our child. Our. The bitch had taken everything from me, and she still had the audacity to assume she would have a claim on MY son. Eyes blazing with fury, I tore my hands from hers, and charged with magic I slammed them against Dahlia's bony chest, sending her flying through the trees, and into the darkness where I could no longer see her. "You will never have my son," I whispered.

Running all the way back to our cottage, fueled by anger and a determination to stop Dahlia's reign of terror, I was out of breath once I finally arrived. Pushing the animal pelts away from the doorway, I made straight for Dahlia's collection of potions, very aware I probably only had seconds before she would catch up with me. Trembling fingers finally closed about a flask of red liquid, and I brought it to my lips, draining the entire thing just as Dahlia burst inside, her eyes wide with fear as she saw what I was doing.

"I gave you everything. You dare to take what is mine!?"

I dropped the empty bottle to the floor and shot her a look of defiance, managing a triumphant smile before the poison took hold of me and pulled me under the lull of death. Victory was mine.

–––

Dahlia had told me stories of what happens to a witch when she dies. "We never truly die," she had told me one night when I was nine. "Though our earthly bodies may be broken and beyond repair, our spirits remain. We will be in the earth, in the trees of the forest, the gentle breeze that shakes the leaves, and in the ocean, as wild and unruly as we are. A witch never dies."

In the darkness, I waited. For Dahlia's words to become true. For a feeling of freedom, for the weight of past pain and trauma to release me, to be one with nature. But it never came.

My eyes shot open and I inhaled in a deep gasp. My heart beat hard and frantic within my chest, as though it was trying to find its normal rhythm and failing miserably. I looked around wildly, shock and disbelief washing over me as I was met with the sight of our little hut, Dahlia beside me on my bed of furs.

I did not know what day it was, or if time had even progressed since I was last awake. But as I sat up, I realized it must have. My clothes were changed.

"How can this be? How am I alive?" I muttered in bewilderment, voice trembling.

"The spell that sealed our magic sleep guards us against all forms of harm," Dahlia informed me casually, her eyes following me as I rose from the bed to stand. "But the spell did not protect everyone…"

Another twinge of pain attacked me, and I knew it was true before I even looked down. My round belly had disappeared, now as taut and flat as it had been before I conceived my son. As though I had never been pregnant at all…

My head spun. Heart throbbing with agony, gut-wrenching with guilt because of what I had done. Killed my own child, in a foolish attempt to secure our freedom. Once more, tears sprouted from my eyes and fell down pale cheeks in abundance. Clutching the fabric of my dress, fingers desperately searching for the unborn child that was no longer there, I fell back onto the bed, sobbing.

"My baby."

I had thought the pain of losing Matthias would be the worst one possible, but this…His death did not even compare. It was as though someone was ripping me limb from limb, over and over again, choking me, blinding me, burning my skin and peeling it off my flesh.

I barely noticed as Dahlia embraced me, her chin resting atop my head, her voice quite calm and serene.

"There, there, my child… I will forgive you for this. Eventually. But you can never forget there is no escape from me. Not. Even. Death." 


	3. Chapter 3

**UNLEASHED**

_Forever Mine Aftermath_

In my seventeenth year, I had finally found enough courage to ask my aunt Dahlia why she was so angry with my mother. Why she hated my father. And through magic she had shown me her memories, allowing me to see each action before my very eyes as they unfolded.

My father's people came to her village in the far North. There they killed every man, woman, and child. But Dahlia and Esther gave them pause. The young women had magic – a valuable asset. The Vikings loaded up their ships with everything of worth that they could find, taking their victims' belongings as their own. Including the witches. Every house was set ablaze. And the last thing Dahlia and Esther saw as the ships pushed away from shore, was the corpses of their family burning.

Back in my father's village, the two sisters were nothing more than Þrælls – slaves. Dahlia, being the eldest, took the brunt of the men's abuse to keep her younger sister safe from their wrath. While forced to do magic on the Vikings' behalf, she was beaten and raped repeatedly. But to her, the pain was all worth it, as long as Esther remained safe.

In secret, Dahlia worked on a plan that would allow them to escape and spent months gathering the necessary ingredients for such a spell. But when the result she had worked so hard to achieve was close enough to taste, Esther revealed a secret of her own. She would not be leaving with Dahlia. Esther had fallen in love and was going to marry – one of Dahlia's past abusers. Mikael. My father.

Dahlia's heart broke that day, and it never mended. Her sister's betrayal cut too deep.

I understood her pain, could sympathize even as I hated her. Her past dealing with the Vikings had made her loathe the entire lot of them, and she blamed Mikael for the loss of her sister. She had grown cold and cruel to protect herself from further harm, and to ensure her abusers would fall victim to her vengeance.

But I don't think she saw that the injustice that had befallen her, she now pushed onto me. She was my abuser. She was the devil that haunted my nightmares, and that would still be there when I woke up. History was repeating itself.

More than a week had passed since that fateful night Dahlia had killed Mattias and I had lost my child in a foolish attempt at ending my life. In all those days I had barely moved from my bed. I lay atop a bundle of old sheepskin, staring blankly at the wall to my left. I did not sleep. I did not eat. I could no longer cry.

Something inside me had shattered that night, and I felt numb. A hollow emptiness resided where I had previously felt my son grow from a seed to near full-fledged child. Whatever spark of resistance had fueled my thoughts and actions before, appeared to have been smothered. Nothing mattered anymore. I had nothing to live for.

Dahlia, despite all her flaws, did not bother me during this time. She went about her daily tasks of keeping the house in order, ensuring our shelter could weather the cold winter outside, and that we had enough food to last us the few weeks remaining until our magical hibernation would claim us for yet another century. Perhaps she could sense there would be no use in trying to rouse me. The woman lacked empathy, but she understood the workings of humanity well enough.

On the ninth day, however, she took my hands in hers and gently coaxed me out of bed. I let her, allowing her to move me around as she wished, as pliable as a puppet. As I stood, she began to undress me, humming that familiar tune she had used to calm my magical outbursts as a child. Once naked, she guided me into a wooden tub she'd filled with water warmed over the fire.

There, she washed me. As gently as a mother would a young child. She ran a soft cloth over my skin, lathering with one of her specially made soaps, and rinsed it off. I paid no special mind to the process, took no pleasure in the warm water enveloping my stiff, cold limbs.

When she had finished and successfully managed to dry me, Dahlia dressed me in fresh clothing. Blue woollen dress atop my linen shift, wool stockings, and soft leather boots laced tightly around my feet and calves. She wrapped a fur cloak around my shoulders, predicting the coming night would be especially cold.

Throughout all of this, she did not speak. Not until she set herself the task of combing and braiding my long hair.

"It is enough now, Freya. We have had sufficient time to grieve," she said softly, her fingers tugging slightly on my blonde tresses as she worked.

"What happened was very regrettable. But you have learned your lesson, and now we must move on. Our time is short. Soon we will sleep, and there is much to be done in preparation. We must ward the house, from the elements and from those who would try to intrude. And I am making you a potion."

Dahlia's hand cupped my chin and she turned my head to look at her. My eyes automatically met hers. She was smiling. All maternal pretence. Or possibly madness.

"You will take the potion before sleep claims us, and it will ready your womb for another child. When we wake, we will try again."

For the first time in days, I felt it. The spark. A spark of anger and indignation.

We will try again.

She was never going to stop, was she? She would never give in until I gave her what she wanted, and even then I would still remain bound to her.

Dahlia released me and returned to braiding.

"From the day my sister turned your siblings into the abominations they now are, the duty was put on your shoulders alone, my Freya. You will give me the child I am owed. And then, when he or she has matured, they will give me their firstborn. And so it will continue throughout the ages until I have enough power to truly make us immortal. No more hibernation. We will be the most powerful coven this world has ever seen. The world will cower at our feet. And no one will ever be able to make victims of us again."

The look in my aunt's dark eyes spoke of pure obsession. Power. It was all about power. And it would never stop.

In my mind's eye, I could see generations of children, men, and women, all of my bloodline, condemned to an eternity of oppression and abuse. They were suffering. So much suffering...So much blood on my hands…

I inhaled sharply, and from the depths of my lungs emerged a shriek of pure animalistic fury. I lunged for the woman at my side, clawing at her face, her eyes, tearing out clumps of her hair. I was lost in the ecstasy of rage and I could not stop myself.

Dahlia could, however. With bloodied gashes upon her face, she lashed out with her magic. It threw me off her and I landed harshly on the earthen floor of our home. Pain briefly registered in the back of my mind, but it seemed unimportant. I got back on my feet and made to attack again, but this time my aunt beat me to it.

Her hand closed into a fist and I instantly found myself unable to breathe, as though invisible fingers had closed about my throat, squeezing mercilessly. I was forced to stop, gasping for breath, eyes wide.

"You pathetic, ungrateful child!" Dahlia hissed, the claw marks on her face slowly fading and giving way to new, healthy skin.

"You're no better than your brute of a father. Perhaps a night out in the cold will still your temper?"

She threw me then, magic carrying me swiftly through the suddenly open front door, and into the mounds of snow outside. Her hex dissipated and I drew in great lungfuls of air, coughing and sputtering. When I looked back at our cottage, the door was again closed, a clear message I was not to enter until given permission.

I did not care. The biting cold was better than being in her presence. Anything was better.

Hot tears of anger filled my eyes as I clambered to my feet, and I quickly set off in the direction of the forest and the small mountain top beyond. I fought my way through snow that reached me to the knees, the effort using more energy than I truly could afford to part with. And yet my anger fueled my journey and I did not stop until I had reached my destination.

Atop the mountain, there was less snow. The wind had carried some away and blown it into the ocean down below. The population of trees up here was sparse, but a few pines swayed lightly, one of them sheltering an old rock monument; a stone carving of the god Odin. One of the few the Christians had missed on their mission to destroy all traces of 'the old gods'.

As soon as my eyes fell on Him, I realized my anger had faded. Possibly extinguished during my climb up here. It gave way to another emotion, one I cared for far less. Despair.

This was not my first time visiting. I had been here several times earlier this year to sacrifice and pray, up until my pregnancy had stopped me. The trek had become too arduous once I was seven months gone.

I fell to my knees in front of the small statue, brushing snow from my previous offerings. I unearthed a wooden bowl previously used to hold goat's blood and cleaned it out the best I could. My fingers turned stiff and pink from the cold, but it did not matter. In fact, it might work to my advantage in the end.

I was not entirely sure why I had come, what message I wished to share with my gods. All I knew was that I was utterly alone and that I needed someone to listen.

I closed my eyes and willed my magic forth, two deep slashes appearing on either of my wrists and I quickly held the bleeding wounds over the bowl to gather the crimson drops that fell in abundance. My eyes watered once more, from pain, from sadness, from fear.

When the gods see willingness to suffer – to sacrifice – they pay attention.

When the bleeding lessened and my wounds closed, I lifted the bowl and set it carefully at the foot of the statue.

"Óðinn (Odin),

I call upon your strength and power, I ask you to share your wisdom.

Aldaföðr (Allfather),

I, your faithful daughter, beseech you...help me.

I cannot live like this anymore. I cannot, will not, be a slave.

Fjölnir, Wise One, Concealer,

Aid me in my escape, grant me the possibility to fight another day.

Lend me your weapons and knowledge so that I can outwit my enemy.

In return I offer…"

I paused, my mind spinning. What could I offer? What did I have that was worthy of a god's favour? Dahlia had already taken everything from me – my love, my will to live, my ability to die. What was left?

The answer came to me swiftly. Like a lightning bolt hurled to earth. Was it Odin who had planted the idea in my head? I did not know. But all at once I knew the price that had to be paid.

I couldn't help but hesitate, one hand absentmindedly falling to my stomach, clenching in the fabric of my dress.

"In return, I offer up my womb. My ability to carry forth a child. I will give you the most precious gift a woman has: my fertility."

I was sobbing now, but through great effort, my words were loud and clear, my intention and honesty genuine. It was an awful thing to part with, but it had to be worth it. It had to. For freedom.

Pain struck me suddenly, the same sensation from when Dahlia's magic had restricted my windpipe coiled about my insides and I fell into the snow, writhing and screaming. Darkness fell around me, and my surroundings disappeared, my mind hurled into a never-ending cacophony of images and sounds. I saw the faces of my children, the lives that may have come to fruition had I chosen differently. They were beautiful. I cried. I cried for those souls that would never see the light of day, and I cried for myself, for not being able to know them.

A deep, male voice continued to echo through my head:

"Sacrifice,

Sacrifice,

It is not a sacrifice unless it hurts."

Darkness.

The sensation of something soft tickling my forehead forced me awake. The sun was out, warming me with its light despite the blanket of snow beneath me. A shadow fell on my face and momentarily startled I reached out to brush it away. A disgruntled caw sounded and I could hear the flapping of wings.

I pushed myself up to sit and turned around to face the statue of Odin. Atop it sat two black ravens, identical, watching me. A small smile tugged on my lips. Was this a sign from the gods? Odin's ravens, Huginn and Muninn? I regarded the birds a moment longer before the memory of last night returned to me.

The brief satisfaction I had felt vanished instantly, and I was filled with dread. I got to my feet, staggering a little, and realized my inner thighs were sticky with blood. As was the skirt of my dress. I tried to bite back a sob but to no avail. It had not been a dream.

"Freya!"

At the sound of Dahlia's voice, I whirled around, eyes wide with renewed fear. There she stood, face flushed with colour from the cold, her gaze furious. She had never liked my gods. My father's gods.

"What have you done to yourself now?" she snarled once she caught sight of the blood, and made to take a step towards me. She stopped in her tracks as the ravens lifted off from the statue and moved to perch on either of my shoulders. Dahlia looked as stunned as I felt.

Their talons were sharp, but they did not hurt me. Rather the opposite. Their grasp on my shoulders felt comforting. Reassuring.

The display did not stop Dahlia for long though. She was moving again, and even with my two new companions, I felt certain she was about to make me regret ever defying her. My power was great, but it did not match hers. Nothing ever could.

Except…

Dahlia had only taken a few more steps before she was brought to a quick stop again. She doubled over, hands clutching the sides of her head as though experiencing a migraine. She groaned in pain and when she finally managed to straighten, I noticed trickles of blood from her eyes, nose, and ears.

It wasn't me. Not my doing. But I recognized a moment of weakness when I saw one. The raven on my left squeezed me just a little tighter, as though encouraging me to act. And I did.

I raised my hands and closed them to fists, twisting them beside one another as though I was wringing water from a cloth. The sounds of bones breaking echoed through the open space and Dahlia crumpled to the ground as her legs, ribs, and arms shattered from the inside. The sight filled me with elation, and before the powerful witch had time to recover, my magic caught her once more, twisting her neck in an unnatural angle until temporary death took her.

I stood there a short while, breathing hard and staring down at my tormentor's unconscious form. The ravens pushed off my shoulders and took off into the air, swirling in circles up above me as a voice that was not my own whispered in my mind.

"Run."


	4. Chapter 4

**THOSE WE LEFT BEHIND**

**–1500s–**

The embers in the fireplace were close to dying, their warmth rapidly fading and allowing for a chill to run up my bare arms. I rubbed them absentmindedly, leaning against the windowsill to peer down at the activity in the village below, a distraction from the cold while I waited for the innkeeper's daughter, Louisa, to come bearing more firewood.

The sun had set an hour ago, and what had earlier been a crowded marketplace brimming with merchants and housewives shopping for their husbands' dinners, was now a den of inequity with prostitutes flaunting their wares to their increasingly drunken and inebriated clientele. I didn't mind. Though I rarely indulged in the company of these creatures, their town's reputation for lewd and criminal behaviour was the very reason I had chosen to purchase a room for the night. It was not a place anyone would associate with me and it would likely offer me the concealment I needed until I could leave the following morning.

Though I loathed having to run and hide, it was not a new experience for me. In fact, it had become my whole life ever since I made the decision to leave Dahlia, fully aware she would never cease to hunt me down. But for once, it was not the ever-looming threat of my aunt that had swayed my decision to hole up in this rowdy inn, nor my sudden need to leave the continent all together once the opportunity came.

It was a man.

A man by the name of Marcus Lowe.

We had met a few months prior when I resided in the forest a few towns over. I'd been setting snares for rabbits one morning when I came across a wounded animal. A wolf.

The people of Britain, both common folk and nobility alike, had made it their mission to rid the isles of the wolf population that attacked their livestock and threatened human life. So aggressively, in fact, the canine species was now a rarity. It did not stop the villagers from occasionally gathering hunting parties and setting vicious traps for the animals, however, and it seemed this time they had succeeded in catching one.

The wolf was huge, his fur a charcoal black, his eyes dark. His left front paw was trapped between two iron clamps with jagged edges that cut into his flesh, and though he was still fighting to free himself, even from a distance I could tell he would soon exhaust himself and submit to a slow, agonizing death.

I could also tell that this beast was not entirely animal. The energy that swirled around him, unseen to everyone who did not possess magic of their own, informed me this was a shifter. A werewolf.

It took a long time before he allowed me to near him, and even longer for him to accept my touch. When he finally let his guard down enough for me to pry the trap apart with magic, he collapsed onto his side, the wolf retreating and giving way to the man. Marcus.

He howled in pain as he clutched his mangled hand, a few of his fingers barely held on by strips of flesh and sinew. The pain proved too intense and he passed out shortly after.

At this point in time, grand shows of magic like teleportation were not something I allowed myself to make use of, unless absolutely necessary. The more magic I used, the easier it would be for Dahlia to sense and track me. And so even if I would have felt more comfortable transporting us back to the abandoned hovel I was inhabiting, I was unable to move Marcus and stayed by his side to heal him in slow, steady bursts. It took time and effort to restore his hand and ensure he would still retain the use of his fingers, but luckily he did not wake during my sessions of healing. and we were not disturbed.

He came to when night had fallen, his naked body draped in my cloak, and as soon as I was certain he would be able to make it home without further assistance, I rose to leave. But he caught me by the arm and held me back, a move that was both gentle and insistent at the same time.

Marcus was grateful, very much so, and after trusting me with his identity demanded I come home with him, to eat and bathe and procure new clothing. Apparently, my old dress, gaunt and sunken cheeks, and tangled hair made him believe I could benefit from such treatments. He wasn't wrong.

After a few initial objections, I caved.

What can I say? Having not eaten for almost three days and knowing no food or comfort awaited me back at the hovel, my distrust and caution was quelled by my ravenous hunger and the need to feel somewhat human again.

After a short trek through the dark forest, Marcus brought me to a small settlement on the outskirts of town with several little houses surrounding what appeared to be the main lodge. Men, women, and children, came pouring out when we arrived and after Marcus regaled them with the tale of what had happened, I was suddenly embraced, patted on the shoulders, and kissed on the forehead by rejoicing werewolves. Marcus' family, I soon realized. His pack.

They welcomed me with an enthusiasm I had never before experienced. Their warmth was genuine and to them, it seemed a given I was to stay for as long as I needed, to rest, and as the more elderly women of the pack told me: "Put some meat on my bones".

Despite my initial reluctance, I couldn't help but be pulled in. It was all so new, so nice. It wasn't long before I began to feel affection for them all, and before I knew it months had passed, and I was still there.

I spent most nights in Marcus' bed, greatly enjoying his company and his body, and the feelings were mutual. I opened up a little as time went on, sharing a few details of my life with him without revealing too much. Compared to Marcus I was a closed book. He did not hold back, with anything. He made his appreciation for me clear with both words and actions and declared with frequent intervals that I was "His".

It wasn't an unusual thing with werewolves. I saw the same possessiveness and need to protect what they considered theirs with most of the adult couples in the pack. But the difference was, they were mated. Mated for life, the way wolves do. Marcus and I were not, and could never be. Not because I didn't share the wolf-trait, but because it would never work.

It wasn't that I was not tempted by what life with Marcus could offer – a partner that loved and worshipped me, protection, comfort, a family of people who truly wanted me for me and not just because of the magic I wielded. I found I craved all this and more, and the longer I stayed with Marcus, the easier it became to fantasize that this could soon become a reality.

But another part of me, the more logical part, knew it would all have to come to an end. The longer I remained in one location, the easier it would be for Dahlia to find me. And she would not be deterred by a pack of werewolves. She would kill them all without a second's hesitation to get to me. And it would be all my fault.

I was putting the entire pack in danger with my mere presence.

Besides, the call of my siblings still out there somewhere and my dream to reunite with them never faded. And that dream would never come to fruition if I chose Marcus.

So, the night before, I snuck out while Marcus was still sleeping and made my way to this seedy, little underbelly of a town. The following morning I would be on a ship heading to France, and my presence here would soon be forgotten. Or so I thought,

A knock on the door tore my gaze from the window and I moved to open it, lifting the deadbolt I had put in place earlier to ensure some extra safety, Expecting to find the innkeeper's daughter Louisa, my eyes widened in surprise as I instead came face to face with one devilishly handsome, furious werewolf.

Marcus.

He stood there in the doorway, muscular arms braced on the wall on either side of him, his dark gaze blazing with a fury that had me take a few steps back.

I wasn't afraid of him. Marcus had never harmed me, nor given any sign it was in his nature to do so. But his proximity, the scent of him that enveloped me, had me fearing for my own self-control.

"Marcus."

I acknowledged as I stepped back towards the dying fire, one hand outstretched to ward him off. He seemed insulted by the distance between us and quickly moved inside, shutting the door behind him with one booted foot before he stalked towards me.

Unwilling to let him get close enough to touch me, I snatched the iron-wrought poker by the fireplace and brandished it like a sword before me, a note of genuine warning in my voice as I repeated his name.

"Marcus."

He halted in his tracks a few feet away, eyes narrowed as they shifted from my face to the weapon in my hand and back again. He smiled, but it lacked its usual warmth. He was still furious.

"You think I wouldn't find you, Wildcat?" he growled, a deep guttural sound that rumbled through his broad chest. "You think I will just let you leave?"

Wildcat. A nickname I had earned sometime during the early stages of our relationship when he'd discovered my penchant for fighting his dominant nature during sex. The sound of his familiar voice made my stomach clench with yearning, but I held fast.

"I think you'll have no choice," It wasn't as though I was trying to goad him with my honesty, but I couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at my lips as I spoke.

I had never made things easy for Marcus, no matter how much I wanted him. Had made him work and fight for everything I had given him, and I knew he loved it. He enjoyed the challenge. And I now realized it had been a mistake. Though I had never left him before, nor threatened to do so, he was so used to my words of rejection, used to this cat and mouse game that usually ended in seduction. Why would he think he couldn't get me back now?

Marcus sneered and suddenly lunged for me. Had I not been so on edge, his superior speed and strength would have ensured he'd caught me. But I was ready for him. I stepped out of the way and swung the iron bar at him, catching him in the ribs.

He gasped and doubled over, clutching the spot of impact, and I made to strike him again. Across the back this time to bring him down onto the floor. Part of me felt horribly guilty, and had I not known he would be good as new within a few hours I might not have been able to harm him at all. Well, maybe just a little bit.

As I swung out the second time, Marcus hastily righted himself and caught the iron weapon with one hand. He tugged sharply before I could let go, and yanked me to him with ease, his arms locking around my body like chains. The poker dropped to the floor at our feet and lay there, forgotten, as I valiantly fought his embrace, my back pressed to his chest. He only tightened his hold the more I squirmed and I soon felt his lips at my ear, his warm breath shooting a jolt of desire straight between my thighs.

Dammit. My body could be such a traitorous bitch.

"Stop fighting me, Wildcat," he demanded in that low rumbling voice of his, his teeth nipping my earlobe in warning.

I didn't stop, still tense and ready to flee, but when I realized no amount of writhing would get me the result I needed, I changed my tactics.

"How did you find me?" I spoke in a deceptively calm manner as my fingers slowly attempted to pry his arms from around me, hoping to at the very least distract him from doing what I knew his wolf was pushing him to do now he had his hands on me. Claim. Dominate. Fuck.

He chuckled darkly.

"Your scent. I could find you anywhere." His tongue teased the shell of my ear, almost making me whine in frustration. He stopped suddenly, and I felt him tense around me. "How did you manage to slip away without waking me?"

Unlike me, Marcus was a notoriously light sleeper. Any and all sounds would jostle him from his slumber, always ready for an attack. And though I had always considered myself a fairly graceful woman, all my illusions had been shattered after cohabiting with wolves and their sensitive hearing. Apparently, I had as much stealth as a drunken sailor.

I briefly paused my efforts for freedom, just long enough to attempt a slight shrug of my shoulders and to make a noise that could be interpreted as: "I don't know."

Silence followed for the next few seconds until Marcus spoke again, and despite his words, I could hear the smile threatening to break across his handsome features.

"You drugged me, didn't you?"

Though he could not see my face from our current positions, I assumed a face of innocence. I may or may not have added some of my herbal blends to his wine. Just enough to keep him from waking.

Despite his annoyance, he laughed, and as I felt his lips press a kiss to the back of my head, my eyes fell shut. He was making this so difficult.

After a moment, his voice turned sombre. Soft, but insistent. Hurt. It cut me like a knife.

"Why are you running from me, Freya?"

I swallowed, keeping my eyes shut.

"It's not you I am running from."

"Your aunt?" He growled, but I sensed his anger was not directed at me this time. "I told you I would protect you. The whole pack will. You're safe with us."

I had told him about Dahlia, of her abuse and reluctance to let me go, but I hadn't let him in so deep he knew everything. I'd kept the gory details to myself, unwilling – no, unable – to share so much of myself even with someone I cared for deeply. And so obviously he believed his promise. Believed he and his pack would prevail over this lone witch who threatened the woman he wanted. Because he didn't know any better.

I squirmed in his arms again, needing to put distance between us.

"Let go."

He tightened his hold on me, snarling. "No."

"Let me go," I repeated, my own voice a growl now panic welled within me. "I don't want this. I don't want you!"

A blatant lie, but if it would ensure he left, it was worth it.

Marcus' hold on me shifted, but he didn't let go. One hand collared my throat while the other reached down to bunch in my skirts, raising the hem of my dress to gain access to my sex. He cupped me possessively, his middle finger dipping between my folds to tease the sensitive flesh there and came away wet, my arousal coating him.

I groaned, barely containing the urge to whine in protest as his hand slipped from between my thighs to travel to his mouth. I tried to follow his actions with my gaze, but the hand around my throat held me pinned against him. Still, I could hear the hum of contentment from him as he tasted me on his fingers and soon found his lips back at my ear.

"You're a goddamned liar, Wildcat."

Yeah. I was. And apparently not a very convincing one.

Marcus put uncomfortable pressure on my throat then, not enough to keep me from breathing, but enough to keep me focused on his hold while his other hand made quick work of the intricate lacing along the back of my corset. I clutched his wrist with both hands, inwardly cursing as he undressed me until I was naked, his free hand roaming the expanse of my soft skin as he pulled me back against him. I could feel his hard length press against my ass, evidence of his own arousal which had probably plagued him ever since he caught the trail of my scent. He was rarely patient. On a normal day would have bent me over the table by now to take what he wanted.

But now he had something to prove. I could sense it from the way he clutched me to him, from the way he towered over me to intimidate and dominate. He wanted to possess and claim me, to soothe his aggravated wolf as much as the man, yes. But he also wanted to make sure I understood. That there was no escaping him, no convincing him to leave me.

His fingers dipped between my thighs again, coating themselves in my essence as he teased and rubbed, occasionally entering me in slow, agonizing strokes before pulling away. His teeth found my earlobe once more, and he growled his intentions.

"You tried to deprive me of what is mine. I can't allow that."

I hissed in a sharp breath as his palm came down hard on my butt cheek, making me buck in his grasp. His words and punishing actions ignited my defiance and I snarled my displeasure, digging my fingernails into his wrist as I once again began to fight his hold, writhing and thrashing.

"Not yours. Not anyone's."

I fought hard and wild, so much so Marcus struggled to keep me pinned. Forced to shift his hold on me, one arm snaked around my waist to anchor me to his body, his hand leaving my throat to tangle in my hair. Catching a handful, he tugged my head back sharply and I soon felt teeth clamp down on the back of my neck. It wasn't hard enough to break the skin, but my body stilled, recognizing the warning he and his inner beast was giving me. I remained tense for another few seconds, then slowly, relaxed back against him, acting purely on primal instinct.

I was rewarded with a kiss where his teeth had once threatened to pierce my flesh, and a shiver of delight rippled down my spine.

"That's my good girl," he whispered adoringly, and though I knew it had not been meant as patronizing, I still bristled.

With a slight nudge of magic, my fingernails turned to claws and reached behind me to slash at his skin, punishing him. He growled in pain and...approval?

"That's right, Wildcat. Mark me."

Fucking wolves.

Giving him what he wanted, though probably more than what he could handle, I dug my claws into the sides of his legs, cutting deep enough for true pain to blast him and force him to relinquish his hold on me. Once he did, I didn't waste any time. I dove for the iron poker on the floor but missed it by inches as a hard, naked body tackled me to the ground.

Marcus was on me again, and we fought. Well, I fought. Marcus tried to pin me down while avoiding my razor-sharp claws. Minutes passed, and in the end, Marcus came out on top. In every sense of the word.

Panting, having close to exhausted myself by struggling with this mountain of a man, my muscles burned and ached as I slumped beneath him, claws retracting. He didn't gloat, but I could sense his satisfaction roll off him in smug waves. To his credit, he didn't voice it.

While my breathing calmed, he blanketed me with his body, kissing along the column of my throat and sucking gently at my pulse-point. Soon, he sat up and pulled me with him, making me straddle his lap before he claimed my mouth, feasting hungrily and greedily, giving an admonishing squeeze to my ass every time I tried to take control of the kiss. He was in charge, and apparently, I needed to accept that. I did. The fight had gone out of me for the time being, and that coaxing voice in the back of my mind told me to just enjoy him.

One last time.

When our kiss broke, he teased my entrance with his fingers again, murmuring huskily against my lips.

"This is mine."

His fingers moved, slipping between my asscheeks and teasing there as well.

"This is mine."

His free hand cupped my chin, forcing me to meet his hungry gaze.

"You are mine. And I'm going to fuck you, take you, wherever and whenever I want. And you're going to let me. Aren't you, Wildcat?"

My swollen lips parted for his thumb as he grazed its pad over my mouth, tenderly sucking on his finger as I nodded, eyes hazy with lust.

He smiled.

When morning came, we lay in bed, my back tucked against Marcus' chest as he dozed. He had fought the lull of sleep so hard, was terrified if he succumbed, I would vanish. But eventually, he'd given in.

I hadn't.

Couldn't even if I had wanted to.

My heart hurt, my insides squirming with agony and guilt over what I was going to do.

Last night had changed nothing.

Though as we'd curled up together, sated and sleepy, and Marcus had held me, whispered words of love and adoration against my hair, promising me a life of companionship, that I would never be alone again...I had wanted to badly to just give in. To risk it all. To hell with Dahlia.

But that was a selfish thought. A selfish fantasy. And I would never forgive myself if Marcus and his lovely family got hurt because of me.

So, as much as it hurt, as much as it broke my heart, I slipped from his arms. It wasn't easy. His hold on me was still so tight I suspected I might be bruised. But in his sleep, while his mind was occupied and elsewhere, his body eventually gave in to my gentle nudging, allowing me to rise and get dressed.

Just as I finished, I felt him stirring. His eyes shot open when his hands couldn't find me and when his gaze landed on me by the door, the confused look turned to one of hurt and betrayal. Despite this, I sensed him readying himself for another attack, to force me to stay. Before he could get up, I moved towards him and sat down beside him. This seemed to placate him and his wolf enough to keep from making a possessive grab for me. I leaned in to kiss him, cupping his face in my hands as I tried to memorize the taste of him on my tongue, breathing in his scent while I still could.

"You're not leaving," he said once our lips parted, foreheads resting against one another.

I closed my eyes and gave him another kiss, though forced myself to break away quicker this time. I met his gaze, trying to convey a million conflicting feelings at once, but knew he would never understand.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, placing my palm on his forehead and doing what I had sworn never to do to my handsome wolf. To directly use my magic against him. "Sleep."

His eyes fell shut before he could react any further and his head thumped back against the pillows. I stood, pulling the blankets back over his naked body and stooped to give him one last kiss, fighting in vain to stop the tears that stubbornly ran down my cheeks.


End file.
